But It Suits You
by Raining Sky Guy
Summary: Crack. John is dragged into yet another situation by his ever petulant partner. but despite the ridiculousness of it, John doesn't end up all that mad. He could do without some things of course. Crackish fic. Johnlock. Rated T for swearing.


**Title:** But It Suits You

 **AN.** Because omfg I should be studying.

Dedicated to the gal, my friend, that introduced me to Sherlock and to my other friend who sent some inspiration to me xD.

* * *

"Sherlock…" John whispered urgently, even a tad annoyed, tugging stiffly at the arm around his, as they walked. "Explain to me again, how is this any inconspicuous?" He made a small pause, but didn't allow the other to answer, "We're in the middle of the street in the bloody daylight, Sherlock! And your paparazzi are here." The blond man sighed before continuing, "We needed to hide goddamit. How exactly is two men getting 'married' inconspicuous?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock started, all of him the description of composure—with the added touch of a . "Nobody would expect us to be in the middle of a murder case."

"Yes. People usually think a marriage is for people getting married. Fools the lot of them, right." John answered flatly and with a deadpanned expression. "Now, couldn't you have picked a less compromising event?"

"No no, dear John, our faces are too recognizable by now, most likely thanks to your dearest blog. We need to stand out to be unnoticed now." Was that irony in his voice? The shorter man huffed, gloved hands clenched into nervous fists, once again shifting— the motion making him remember something else.

"Even if it— for some reason— had to be a wedding, why in bloody hell was _I_ forced into a bloody _dress_?"

Sherlock paused, puzzled by this new complaint and turned his head to look at John properly. "Is there a problem? It suits you."

The war veteran felt himself blush — _who_ said this sort of things to a bloody man in a _bloody white wedding dress?_

Worst of all, this wedding was out in the open, the man in the tuxedo and the man in drag walking down a long _long_ white path up to the outdoor altar, with only an unknown priest there. On either side of the white carpet, hundreds and hundreds of tumultuous people waved and cheered and photographed the scene as a whole. At least there wasn't a certain Inspector in the crowd. Nor anyone John knew at least.

It didn't help in the least that there was this floweRy-thing stuck in his hair, painfully pulling on his short hair all the time—not to mention that the length of the dress made walking a hard task. While John suffered in the white thing, his partner was dressed in a black, stripped tuxedo, all handsome and elegant. This was simply unfair.

"I still don't think a fake marriage is the right approach." John said instead, trying to focus on the case at hand— their fanatical (insane) crowd did not help for sure.

"Who said anything about it being fake?"

John yet again paused in his motions, his mind processing the flippant answer and there was a small bout of silence in their personal bubble amidst the cheering —and for some reason people had started to throw paper-thingies and ribbons and confetti into the air. It clicked at last.

"Are…" The man in the dress started, slowly. "Are. You. Bloody. Fucking. Kidding. Me." He finished, flustered and exasperated and too many things for the detective Holmes to puzzle through.

A second beat of silence.

The blond veteran started to chuckle, "Are you _proposing_ to me in our wedding? Who does that?"

This time it was Sherlock who stopped advancing towards the altar, he stared sidelong at John before quirking a smile of his own. The chuckling duo at last reached their destination.

"And what if I was?" Detective Holmes managed to say, as he tried not to break down laughing and lose face in front of so many people.

"Bloody fuck, _no_!" John laughed outright, mortified. "I'm in a fucking white _dress_. If either of us should dress as a woman it should be you!"

"No, no, it certainly wouldn't suit me."

"Then order two tuxs."

* * *

And the crowd and the priest were all so very confused as the man in drag and his betrothed reached the altar between muffled laughs. The taller man shushed the priest when he tried to speak and kissed the man in a white wedding dress on the cheek. John then promptly unhooked Sherlock from himself and threw his dress and gloves and everything else away, preferring to stay in his briefs and together they ran off.

As each other's fiancée, without anyone else the wiser.

 **End**

* * *

 **AN.**

I'm realizing just now that my first fic in this fandom and it's this weird cross of crack and fluff. I keep writing stuff like this, I should probably give it a name already… craff? Cruff? Fluck? Haha, ok no.

XD hi.

Inspired by this hilarious pic that was sent to me, I will be uploading it as cover for this fic after I get five reviews or something like that. Just to be able to confuse as much people as possible at the beginning, I hope you understand hehe.

Were they too OOC? (considering the settings ofc)? And how in heavens do you work that British accent (language [lol])? Or English or whatever it is? Anyone of you knows how to write a good crack without it ending all mushy and stuff?

Bonus: Imagine the Sherlock cast dancing to Uptown Funk….

Hope you laughed, do leave a review with your thoughts.


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